


Bread Crumb Sins

by liquidapathy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Shoplifting, bros being bros, your typical 'dean sacrifices for sammy' fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquidapathy/pseuds/liquidapathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while,<br/>I think I see my brother coming, riding many a mile.<br/>Brother, did you get me some silver?<br/>Did you get a little gold?<br/>What did you bring me, my brother, to keep me from the Gallows Pole?"<br/>-Gallows Pole, Led Zeppelin III</p><p>Title from "Gates of Eden" by Bob Dylan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bread Crumb Sins

Dean Winchester had all of nine dollars in his pocket. Dad was due back in two days and Dean was starting to worry. Dean was not inexperienced when it came to stretching the last few dollars paper-thin across several days. Thirteen-year-old Sam, however, had become nothing short of a bottomless food vacuum. 

“Dean, I'm hungry.”

Dean scoffed from where he was lying on the motel bed. “Yeah, big surprise there, Gumby,”

“If I'm Gumby, you realize that that makes you Pokey, right? Little Red Pony Dean.”

“Shut up. At least I'm not 8 feet tall and, like, a hundred pounds.”

Sam threw his notebook in Dean's general direction and said, pointedly, “Maybe I should get something to eat, then.”

Dean rolled over onto his stomach on the scratchy motel bedcover. “Yeah, yeah. Lemme nap first.” 

Truthfully, Dean wouldn't have been able to sleep if he tried. Anxiety was clawing at the edges of his mind, and he knew that if he let his brain empty at all, he'd be overwhelmed by it. 

Sam, unsurprisingly, was not on-board with the nap idea. “No, Dean, come on! It's past dinner time already!”

Dean sighed and slid off of the bed. “Yeah, that's because we already had dinner.”

Sam grabbed the keys to the impala off of the nicked motel table and tossed them to Dean. “Second dinner, then. C'mon.”

“You're too tall to be a damn hobbit, Sammy.” Dean pulled on his boots and laced them halfheartedly. 

“You're not, shortie.”

“Hey!” Sam dodged a well-aimed backhand. “Fine! We'll get some damn food! Just, we just gotta keep it on the cheap side, huh Sam?” Dean was shooting for nonchalance. No use in stressing Sam out, too.

No cigar. Sam stopped shrugging on his coat, and turned to face Dean, concern etched across his brow. 

“Oh. Oh, yeah.” Sam clenched a fist and started removing his coat. “I'm- I'm actually not that hungry, probably just bored, y'know?”

Dean's stomach dropped to his toes. A+ job, there, Dean. Sam had enough to worry about without having to know the extent of Dean's failure to provide. “Sammy, shut the fuck up and get in the damn car. I'm hungry too, you know. Not all about you.” But he gave Sam's arm a playful punch and threw his little brother's coat at him. “Put your coat on, it's cold.”

Sam gave an exasperated sigh. “I'm not a little kid, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, with all your whining, you coulda fooled me.” Dean winked at Sam and pulled the motel door open. “Let's hit the grocery store. I'll make us something.” No way nine dollars was going to last them two days if they hit a diner or any kind of restaurant. The podunk town they were holed out in had some sort of shitty city ordinance against any kind of fast food restaurant, so any sort of entree at any one of the mom-and-pop places in town was going to completely clean them out. 

Sam must still be on to Dean's money-saving venture, because he didn't complain. “Maybe like macaroni and tuna, or something?” Dean swung himself into the driver's seat of the Impala as Sam slid into the passenger seat and reached over to ruffle Sam's hair, which he carefully dodged. “Yeah, Sammy. That sounds good.” Not too bad, and not too expensive. Dean could live with that. 

((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))((()))(())

Thirty minutes later, Dean and Sam slid two arm-fulls of groceries onto a small black conveyor belt and Dean dug into his pocket for the last of their cash. The cashier was a bored-looking woman who looked to be in her mid fifties. She appraised the two ragtag boys on the other side of the counter with a note of concern. “You boys here with your momma?”

Sam glanced at Dean in time to notice his pained swallow before his answer. “No, ma'am. Our dad is waitin' outside.” 

It didn't look like she bought the lie, but, thankfully, she didn't press it. Dean frantically re-did the math as she rang up their items. He had added it all up in his head before he chose each item, but the possibility of somehow being short made his palms sweat and his head blur. 

The cashier finished scanning the items. “$8.36 is your total today.”

Dean wanted to sigh out loud with relief- his math had been perfectly accurate- but he casually handed the nine dollars over and wiped his palms on his jeans. 

As Dean turned to grab the plastic bags that now held the only food the Winchester boys had, the cashier leaned towards them and lowered her voice. “Now, you boys be careful out there, you understand?”

Dean reluctantly met her eyes and gave her his best Everything-is-Fine grin. “Yes ma'am, we will be. Thank you.”

Dean finished grabbing their grocery bags and left the store, trying not to just sprint to the Impala to get away from her concerned gaze. He could hear Sam almost jogging to catch up, and he slowed his pace. He put on his grin again. “Alrighty, Sammy. Got us some second dinner!” As they entered and started up the Impala, Dean risked a glance in Sam's direction and found his brow furrowed again. 

“Do you think that lady knew?” The boys slid into the Impala. 

“Knew what? That you're a massive geek? Everybody knows that, Sammy. You just can't hide something like that.”

“Shut up, Dean, I'm being serious. Do you think she knows that we're alone and out of food?”

Dean hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Dammit, Sam. We're fine! Dad's coming back day after tomorrow, and it's not like he's been gone all that long.”

“What the hell, Dean? He's been gone almost three weeks! How many other kids do you know who get left alone for three weeks?”

“Shit, Sam, I don't know. I don't cross-examine everyone I meet to see if they have absent fathers!”

“So, you admit that he's an absent father!” Sam had tears of frustration in his eyes, now.

“Fuck no. Dad is doing important work, and it's our job to keep ourselves outta trouble and trained up for the day that Dad needs our help.” Dean gripped the steering wheel harder. “Stop acting like this is some big emergency.”

Sam slammed both hands on the dash in front of him. “Dean! We have no money left and two more days without Dad! That's five meals, each, minimum, until Dad comes back, and we have a box of pasta, two cans of tuna, a loaf of bread, and some fucking peanut butter. This is an emergency!”

Dean decided to go for the bluff. “We're not out of money! We're – we're fine!”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah? Okay, show me, then.”

“Not now, Sam, I'm driving. Jesus.”

Sam swept his hair behind his ears. “Dean. Look. I know. I'm not an idiot.” They had pulled up to the motel and Dean was looking to get out of the car as soon as physically possible. He swung open his door and said, resignedly, “C'mon, Sam. Let's just make some pasta, okay?”

Sam just looked at Dean with his patented, forehead scrunch pity-expression and sighed in surrender. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds good.”

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John Winchester did not return two days later and he didn't call, either. Dean had started to really panic. Taking stock of the last of their food reserves had made it abundantly clear to Dean that something drastic had to be done. Sam needed to eat. 

After school on the day that John should have returned, Dean waited outside the school building for Sam, his head swimming with hunger and plans to keep Sam fed. As Sam exited the school, Dean watched him scuff the heels of his shoes against the concrete. He was thin. Too thin, for a kid his age. Sam's baby fat had all but melted away in the last year, while his peers showed no signs of doing the same. 

Dean felt a hot wave of guilt wash over him as Sam folded his long body into the Impala. 

“Heya, Sammy. How was school?”

Sam laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. 

“It was okay. We started a group project.”

Dean drove toward their temporary home, praying he'd see their father's truck somewhere on the way.

“A group project? Well, that's good. Love me a good group project. Sit back, relax, let the other nerds do the work, kid.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “Dean, I am the kid who's going to end up doing all the work.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah. I see that.”

Sam suddenly lifted his head off of the seat back. “Is Dad back?”

Dean sighed. “Uh. No. No, he's not.”

Sam looked indignant. “Well, did he call? When's he coming back?”

Dean just shook his head. “I don't know, kid. Probably soon. He-”

But Sam interrupted by kicking at the door. “Dean! Don't defend him!”

“Hey! Take it easy! Don't take this out on Baby. Dad'll be back when he finishes up the hunt. You know that, Sammy.”

Sam laid his head back on the seat back in resignation. “You just take his bullshit, no questions asked. Well, I'm fucking done.”

“Watch your language, Sam.”

Sam just hummed an “mmhm” and kept his eyes closed. 

As he pulled into their motel parking lot, Dean felt like he might explode any second. Disappointment spread like ice through his veins as he surveyed the lot and found no sign of their father. Dinner was not happening for Dean tonight. 

The boys tossed their school bags on the table and Sam made straight for the refrigerator. The empty refrigerator.

“Sam!” Dean's sudden outburst startled Sam into stopping in his tracks. He looked at Dean expectantly.  
“I just- uh. Start your homework. I'll make dinner, okay?”

Sam nodded and went to rifle through his backpack. Dean sighed inwardly with relief and started slathering peanut butter on a piece of bread. 

“I'll make you a sandwich to hold you over and then I'll go grab some dinner.”

Sam must have been deeply engrossed in something school-related because he just hummed his agreement and didn't look up from his book. 

Dean was going to have to get creative. 

He decided he had better start improvising now. 

“Mmm, you wanna know what I had for lunch today?”

Sam briefly looked up at Dean, confused and irritated about being interrupted. “What?”

“Emily Jackson.”

Sam's face twisted in disgust. “Oh, ew, Dean! What the hell?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. Mmm. Emily. And then she was going to be late for class, so she gave me her entire lunch. So, a hot girl, and then a hot girl's pizza. Beat that, NerdBoy.”

If Sam kept rolling his eyes like he was, his eyeballs might get stuck to his brain. “Jesus, Dean. You're disgusting.”

Dean grinned and swung open the motel room door. “Yeah I am! And don't you ever forget it.”

(())()()()()()()()

The first stop on Dean's agenda was the convenience store furthest from the motel. If he was going to get caught shoplifting, it should be as far away from Sammy as possible. No use in unnecessarily involving CPS, if he could help it. He had sixty cents left, and the start of a plan. 

The convenience store doorbell chimed as he walked in and he prayed to everything and nothing that he didn't look as suspicious as he felt. He briefly glanced at the store attendant and walked around a shelf that obscured him from the attendant's view. He took a deep breath, grabbed a poptart, and slid it up his sleeve as silently as possible. He pretended to continue browsing, trying to identify things that could fit inside his jacket sleeves and pockets without drawing any attention. 

He strolled nonchalantly toward the canned food aisle. Spotting the canned chicken, he glanced around and managed to pocket a can and then fit one in his waistband, behind his belt buckle. The desperation of needing to keep his little brother fed was the only thing keeping him from being paralyzingly embarrassed about hiding food in his pants. He grabbed a fifty cent candy bar; it's not like he'd be able to just waltz back out without buying anything. Way too suspicious. 

Another candy bar went up his other sleeve, along with a few slim jims and a granola bar. A small can of mini sausages went into the inside pocket of his jacket. Unwilling to press his luck any more, Dean gave himself a quick once-over and headed to the cash register.

The attendant looked up from the skin mag he was 'reading' and fixed a bored stare on Dean. Dean slid the candy bar across the counter and set his last sixty cents next to it. 

“That it for you?” the attendant drawled. 

A tiny intrusive thought made Dean consider, if just for a millisecond, shaking all of the stolen food out onto the counter and yelling, “Nope!! I've got all of this shit, too!” but he violently suppressed it and simply nodded.  
“Total comes to fifty three cents. Seven cents is your change.” He was already back to ogling the skin mag before Dean had collected his change. 

“Have a nice day.” 

Dean wanted to laugh out loud as he exited the store. 

“Oh, I will pal. Thanks.”

((0)((()((()((()(((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((()((())

Sam was still seated at the small table when Dean returned from his shoplifting excursion. 

Dean went to the kitchenette to shake down and pool his spoils. He cooked up the last of the macaroni and mixed in a can of the chicken that he had stolen. When it was done, he split it into two portions and put half into a tupperware. The other half he brought to the homework-laden Sammy. 

“Dinner, dick.”

Sam looked up from his books, a hungry glint in his eye. “Sweet. I'm starved.” Seeing only one plate, Sam paused. 

“Dean, where's yours?”

Dean aimed for nonchalance and patted his entirely empty stomach. 

“Dude. I told you. I had a huge lunch. I'm not hungry right now.”

When Sam opened his mouth to protest, Dean shoved Sam's plate toward his younger brother.

“There's more in the fridge. I'll eat it later, when I get hungry again. Calm down.” This could work.

Sam narrowed his eyes, but he didn't say anything else. He dug into his dinner with relish. And all at once, Dean's hunger was worth it.

()()()()()()()()

John came back two days later, with eight new stitches and a new entry in his journal.

He dumped his duffle bag on the bed that Sam had been sleeping in and slumped heavily onto the bed. “Sorry, boys, that was a tough one. Ain't seen anything like it before.”

Sam looked like he was about to start one of his patented Winchester yelling matches, so Dean interjected. “What was it Dad?”

John launched into a detailed debriefing and, as much as Dean usually loved to hear every detail of the hunt, he was having trouble concentrating on anything John was saying. Two days with having eaten only a slim jim, and one of the poptarts he had stolen had left Dean light-headed and dizzy. All at once, the floor seemed to be rising up towards his face, and darkness brought relief to his perpetually empty stomach. 

()))()(()(

Dean woke to Sam kneeling on the bed beside him. Sam and John were talking in heated tones, but Dean was having trouble making them out. 

“We have to get him to a hospital!”

“Sam-”

“Dad! We don't know what's wrong with him! I know that we're s'posed to avoid hospitals and authority whenever we can, but something could be really wrong!”

Dean could hear John's resignation in his sigh. “You're right, buddy. And of course I want to make sure he's okay. I'm just trying to keep us safe and keep this family together, okay?”

Dean opened his eyes in time to see Sam swallow hard. “I know, Dad. I'm just worried.”

John noticed that Dean was visibly conscious. “Hey, Dean! You okay, little man? We're gonna get you to a hospital, okay?”

Dean used every ounce of energy he could muster to shake his head insistently. “No. No hospital. I'm fine. Really.”

John mirrored Dean's head shaking. “No, we don't know what's wrong. We can't take any chances.”

“No. I'm okay. I just have low blood sugar or something. I-” He paused. “I forgot to eat this morning.”

Unfortunately, Dean's phrasing rang a bell in Sam's mind. “No, you said that you had eaten while I was in the shower. You said-”

Dean could almost see the gears turning in Sam's head. “You- you haven't eaten.”

Dean attempted to sit up, but abandoned that idea when his vision started to go black again. “It's not a big deal, Sammy, lots of people skip friggin' breakfast.”

Sam shook his head in horror. “No. No! I don't just mean this morning. You've been lying about eating for a while! You-” He rounded on his father. 

“This is your fault!” Sam was trembling with rage. “You!” He thrust a shaking finger at his father's chest. “You didn't leave us enough money for food! Dean hasn't been eating because he's been giving all of his food to me!” At this, Sam paled measurably. “I ate your food. Oh, God, Dean, I-”

“Hey! Hey. You didn't eat my food. I was taking care of you, Sammy. It was my choice.”

In all of this, John looked like he had been stunned into silence. “Dean,” he began, “What does he mean, you're out of money? I left you plenty for-”

“You left us enough for two and a half weeks, maximum, Dad!” Sam's eyes were brimming with angry tears, now. “You were gone for almost a month! A month!”  
John was shaking his head and speaking as if he was talking to himself. “No, no. I wasn't gone that long. I might have lost track of time for a little while there, but I left on the 18th and now it's the...”  
He trailed off, trying to make sense of the dates. 

“Now it's the 15th, Dad. Almost a month. You left us, alone, for almost a month!” Dean placed a hand on a shaking Sam's knee in an effort to quiet him.

“Sammy-”

“No, Dean! He doesn't even know how long he was gone!” He stood, advancing on John, but Dean used the last of his strength to grab hold of Sam's arm. 

“It's okay, Sammy. Please. Just let it go.” Dean was pleading, now. “Just- Can we do this later?”

Sam's tears were back, and they were coursing down his cheeks. Sam nodded silently and flung his arms around Dean. “I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so stupid, I should have known. I shouldn't have let you give me your food.”

Dean gripped Sam as hard as he could. “Shut up, Sammy. It's not your fault.” He made eye contact with his father. “It's no one's fault.” Tears brimmed in his father's eyes. 

“Yes it is, Dean.” John approached the boys tentatively. “I'm so sorry, son. I won't let this happen again. I promise. You'll always have enough money.” He choked on his words. “I'm so sorry.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. 

John cleared his throat and spoke again. “How about we get some sugar in Dean and then we go get some dinner and some groceries, huh?”

Sam said nothing. He just continued to bury his face in Dean's shoulder. Dean, however, was entirely on board with the food idea. “Yeah, Dad. That sounds awesome.”

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After a trip to the motel vending machine provided Dean with some much-needed blood sugar, via a coke and some peanut butter cookies, the three Winchesters piled into the Impala and drove to the closest diner. 

Dean ordered himself his go-to bacon cheeseburger and fries and Sam resentfully ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and soup. When the waitress asked if there was anything else they needed before she brought them the check, John ordered another cheeseburger to go. He guiltily glanced at Dean. “You might get hungry again later.” 

Dean smiled in genuine appreciation. “Thanks, Dad.”

On their way out of the town's grocery store, John spotted a TCBY frozen yogurt store. “Boys want some ice cream?”

For a minute, Sam forgot that he was supposed to be angry with John, and jumped at the opportunity for dessert.  
“Yeah! Froyo!!” 

Dean chuckled and ruffled Sam's hair, which earned him a famous Sam Scowl. “Yeah, I'm always up for 'froyo'.”

Sam got flavors like mango and 'green tea' and 'plain tart' while Dean got all caramel flavored yogurt and piled it high with brownie bits. (“Look, Sam! Brownie bits! Dude.. Did you seriously just get fruit on yours? All of these awesome-ass toppings and you got fruit?!”)

Dean took the first bite of his dessert and moaned obscenely. “Sammy, try this. It's way better than that healthy crap you got.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“I'm good, Dean. You should try mine.”

Dean scrunched his nose. “TCBY? More like T.C.B. why the fuck would anyone eat green tea flavored anything, ever?”

John barked a laugh and Sam scowled. They were going to be just fine.


End file.
